What Do You Live For
by UnbrokenSilences
Summary: It's a snowy Christmas day, and she flashbacks to a time when she and him were together in a place they called the School, and a Whitecoat asks her what she lived for. Angsty, post-Fang. One-shot. R&R.


**Hey. Another MR drabble. Angsty. Kinda happy at the end. Christmas setting (though it's the middle of June. What's with my timing? XD) The first person-third person thing changes a bit, but editing really does **_**not**_** suit me, so yeah.**

She can remember the day like it was yesterday, the day he left her twisted and brokenhearted and crying like there was no tomorrow. And maybe there wasn't. Maybe there _was_ no tomorrow—but if there wasn't, would she be here today?

Perhaps not. But she had fought—fought for the chance of seeing him one last time. Each rip to her flesh, each scar in her ever-growing collection, was just another motivation to _get your butt off the ground and fight_. Each pointless day that passed, each day of enmity, sorrow, bitterness, disappointment—each day was just a reminder of the days ahead.

Her friends and family worried about her. They fussed, they watched her carefully, they whispered around her and behind her backs and every time she walked in the room they'd jump and hastily change the subject. What did they think she was—an idiot? She wasn't deaf. She wasn't stupid. She knew what was going on and _hated_ it. Hated how everybody thought she was weak and tried to give her space when really, she just needed it to be like it used to be a long, long time ago. All of them together. Happy. And that just made her more determined to _prove_ to them that she _wasn't_ torn inside, _wasn't_ ripped, _wasn't_ dying every day. Even though she _was_.

She hated him. She hated his _guts_. She hated how he was so _perfect_ for her. She hated how he always _knew_ what she was thinking, she hated how he always had that _stupid_ little smirk on his face, she hated how his hair just felt so soft and _smooth_ under her fingers, she hated how he was just a _good_ kisser. And she hated how being with _him_ made her feel so..._right_.

She hated how she couldn't help but still _love_ him.

She had always wished—secretly—with all her heart that there were such things as _happy endings_. That there was a prince waiting for her and he'd _take her away_ to a fancy, schmancy castle with ponies and maids and without a care in the world. And when she realized how the prince had always been there for her, it seemed like her entire _life_—for one brief, short period of time—was a happy ending. But it _wasn't_.

God, she missed him.

She was never _her_ without him. She wasn't indestructible, indescribable, or the _maximum_ without him. She had lost something vital, something that she needed to function. She had lost one of her wings and most of her heart when he left, and she had lost countless tears and sleep and worry and anger and sadness. She couldn't fully _live_ without him.

How could she _save the world_ when she couldn't even _save herself?_

Flashbacks occurred more frequently with him gone. It was like her body, her _mind_ was hurriedly preserving all the memories, all the _good times_ of _him_ before she forgot. But she never forgot.

She remembered things from a long time ago, in a dreaded place with the sickly smell of chemicals crawling the walls and the feeling of cramped dog-crates all day, every day. She remembered when she was still young, and afraid, and unsure of her purpose, what she was _meant_ to do. She remembered when he came, and she wasn't so _alone_ anymore. She had something to do. She had to _protect_ him, because he was her _friend_.

The stupid scientists loved _testing_ her, like she was a lab rat who had just been fed some cure to some cancer. They loved seeing how much she could run, how strong she was, how smart she was. They loved oohing and ahhing as she made some improvement in some mental capacity test, or ran faster, or lasted longer. They loved marking down their results with a pointy sharp pencil on a clean sheet of white paper on a clipboard each day in their white coats and glasses. She wanted to take that pointy sharp pencil and _kill_ them.

She remembered how one day, they were doing some psychological tests on her.

_ "Okay, Max, we're going to do some tests on you today," said a male Whitecoat who at least looked like he kinda cared. Yeah, and pigs fly. "Come with me into this room now. You'll be fine, I promise." And we all know how promises are always kept with the Whitecoats._

_ "So," the scientist said, sitting across from her on a white conference table. "We notice your behavior has significantly improved since your friend moved in."_

_ She said nothing._

_ The Whitecoat's hazel eyes bored into hers. "Do you consider...um...Fang your friend?"_

_ "So what if I do?" she finally replied, hoping to get this interview over with._

_ The man chuckled. "Ooh, nice." He marked this on his retarded clipboard. "So, how close are you?"_

_ "Enough that we can beat the crap out of you if we tried," she fiercely responded._

_ "Mmm-hmm," the Whitecoat made another note, showing he honestly didn't believe her, that he didn't care. "Would you die for Fang?"_

_ "Without thinking," she answered, truthfully._

_ "Would he die for you?"_

_ She pondered a few seconds. "Probably."_

_ "Ahh." The Whitecoat finally set aside his clipboard, as if declaring it was finally time to get serious. "Now, Maximum. I'm not supposed to ask you this question yet, but I think we're ready. What do you live for?"_

_ "Pardon?" she reeled momentarily, a little taken aback. This was the first time they had really dug deep, really asked something deeply personal. So what if they knew about her and Fang. So what if they knew the secrets of her body she didn't know. _

_ "What do you live for?" the Whitecoat repeated, eyes soft behind his glasses._

_ A moment's silence as she thought. "I live for...I live for..."_

_ "Yes, sweetie?"_

_ "I live for food," she finally responded. "And shelter. And water. And peace. And health." She paused, as she realized the Whitecoat wasn't even taking notes. How considerate. "I live for happiness. I live for flying. And..." she knew what she was about to say was really private, but she didn't really care. "I live for love, and friendship, and friends. Like Fang."_

_ The Whitecoat surveyed Max for a moment, almost sadly. "That's very nice, sweetheart. We've made some real progress." He gathered up his clipboard and lets Max back into her cage._

She snaps out of her flashback, tears moistening her eyes again. _Jeb_...he was long gone, just like stupid _Fang_. The stupid idiot, making her life hard and unbearable and filled with longing and yearning and wishing upon wishing stars.

_What do you live for?_ A whisper from the past.

"I live for seeing Fang again," Max whispered, clutching the necklace around her neck with the birthstone ring he gave her, a stray feather of his she found, and a locket with his picture in it. "I live for loving him, for kissing him, for holding him. I live for my Flock, I live for my family, I live for _saving the world_. Because in the end, I'll get to _see Fang again._"

Several people walking past her glanced at her curiously, the strange girl—no, woman—talking to herself and crying on a snowy Christmas day, all by herself.

Several passerby watch as the woman walks quickly with purpose down to a secluded area where she snaps out large, beautiful, angelic wings, the snow lightly dusting them, and takes off, flying without purpose, letting the wind buffet her to the place she knows her heart belongs.

_I live for you, Fang._

Standing on the ledge of the hawk's cave, Max screams, "I LOVE YOU, FANG!"

And somehow, far away, her dark-feathered lover hears and whispers, "Merry Christmas, Max."

**Oh, jeez. I don't know where that came from. Come on, it's a one-shot. You have my permission to review. **


End file.
